


Contract Lost

by hartstrings



Series: Fallout 3 Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Brainwashing, East Coast Fallout, F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Russian!Charon, betrayal (technically), but post catching feelings, eventual commonwealth shenanigans, ghouling Lone Wanderer, pre-Fallout 4, some fallout 4 character cameos, the existential horror of being charon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartstrings/pseuds/hartstrings
Summary: To the Lone Wanderer's horror, someone else finds out how Charon's contract works before they do. They underestimate how much he means to her - and just what a kid from the vault is truly capable of.Originally a Whumptober oneshot, expanding into a multichapter series.
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer
Series: Fallout 3 Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009035
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

Spring in the Capital Wasteland was wet. Whatever ground wasn’t held together by tree roots turned marshy - Lizzy grunted, struggling to walk through the hard to navigate terrain. Charon plowed on in front of her, his head turning to and fro as he scanned the horizon.

“You know.” she panted after a particularly grating struggle with the muck that had almost eaten her boot. “I’m starting to think we should’ve taken our chances with that group on the road.” It was hours back, a group of six in leather armor with rifles strapped to their backs sauntering down the road. Charon had somehow managed to spot them before they realized there was other company on the road, and quickly ushered her into an alternative path through the wilderness. Cracked and broken pavement wasn’t the most comfortable path, but it beat the mud and brush.

“We were outnumbered.” Came Charon’s short reply - he’d been on edge for months since they’d retaken the purifier, and all the clean water in the world wasn’t enough to settle his nerves. Lizzy couldn’t help but blame herself for it - her own rash actions had destroyed what emotional fortitude he’d built in their time together, and now he was very close to skittish.

Lizzy tried not to wheeze - weeks of bed rest had unwritten the little bit of musculature she’d managed to gain, and the aftereffects of acute rad poisoning had left her body weak. The skin on her face was still bruised, parts of it still peeling from the burns. Still, she was alive - a miracle, everyone had said - so she couldn’t complain. At least she was free of the bandages - the ones around her face had been suffocating.

Charon paused a couple of yards in front of her, glancing over his shoulder at her. He heaved a sigh at her pathetic display as he’d done so many times before - but this time there was concern etched in his brow where before there’d only been annoyance. “ _Zaychik_.” he grumbled, the nickname for her one he’d grown fond of using. “I should call you _cherepakha_ instead.”

“I don’t know what either of those words mean.” she huffed. “Are you ever going to tell me what language you’re speaking?”

“So you can find a dictionary?” He raised a brow, continuing onward once she caught up. “I see you searching the libraries. No. Discover it on your own, then we talk.”

Charon said it with such certainty it almost frustrated her - but his return to playful teasing was one she wasn’t about to question.

“Fine. I hope you don’t mind seeing more libraries.” Lizzy groaned a little when the terrain tilted upward, unhappy to not just have a trek through mud to deal with, but an uphill trek.

“They are not unpleasant.” Charon returned, scaling the small embankment with ease. Lizzy stared at his long and muscular legs with a mix of resentment and awe, earning a slip in the mud for her trouble.

“Shoot.” she hissed as she fell forward, coating the front of her jacket in mud. The familiar clink of Charon’s armor sounded at her side, and her legs dangled as he lifted her up, looping his arms under hers.

“We’re almost back on the road.” He spoke from behind her, his breath ruffling the hair at the crown of her head and his voice rumbling against her back. Somehow even when he was manhandling her he was gentle - she felt like a ballet dancer being lifted gracefully across the stage, even as mud dripped down her coat. Charon walked back up the slippery embankment as if it was nothing and set her down neatly on the pavement.

Lizzy wiped the mud from her pipboy screen and squinted at her map - they were far north, beyond Oasis and its slowly spreading greenery. Running messages for the Temple of the Union wasn’t glamorous work, but it was rewarding - and she liked the change of scenery. They’d made the trip a few times already, to a little settlement called Garden’s End. The wildflowers certainly earned the place its name.

“You look like a slug.” Charon clicked his tongue and wiped a smear of mud from her cheek with his thumb. He paused, knuckles still brushing the underside of her jaw, and for what was far from the first time Lizzy felt her chest leap.

Always she had to be the one to break the contact - Charon’s touches lingered and she never knew if it was the contract or his own feelings. Part of her refused to dwell on the possibility of the latter - she didn’t know if they could ever find a way to break his conditioning, and her heart couldn’t handle it if they couldn’t.

It didn’t stop the butterflies in her stomach or the need she had for his opinion and conversation, but she’d been gifted enough in her lifetime - she was willing to bear dwelling in limbo. Lizzy cleared her throat and looked back down at her pip-boy, bringing her face out of Charon’s reach. He let his arm drop to his side immediately after, resuming the stoic posture of a bodyguard.

“A couple more hours and we should be there.” she reassured him, starting back down the road. “I could go for a bath.”

“Mm.” Charon hummed his agreement at her side. “They let ghouls in?”

“They’d better.” Lizzy stated matter-of-factly. “Not that that’s ever been a problem for us.”

“The Citadel almost was.” he returned. She sighed at him and jogged forward to catch up with his stride.

“But it worked out. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get a nice warm meal, a bath, maybe some rum and nuka-cola…”

“You always have such faith.”

“Someone has to.”

Lizzy caught a grin on his face, and beamed in return. Even being covered in mud couldn’t dampen her spirits - Charon was in a good mood, which meant hers was stellar.

They walked in companionable silence for around an hour more before they met fellow travelers on the road. As always Charon spotted them first - he cast his arm across her chest to bring her to a stop, stepping forward to shield her behind him the best he could.

“Charon.” Lizzy huffed. “There’s only two of them. You’re making us look suspicious.”

His body was stiff again, all trace of his previous good humor vanished like smoke. Lizzy rested her hand against his bicep, feeling the tension humming beneath her fingertips.

“It’s okay.” she murmured gently in an attempt to calm him. “We’re okay.”

The other travelers waved, and any worries Lizzy had evaporated. She waved in turn, and Charon grumbled as he had so many times before.

“I don’t like the look of this.”

Lizzy smiled at the approaching newcomers, though her smile faltered a little once they came close enough for her to see what they looked like. They were two men - one handsome with sleek blonde hair, the other middle-aged and balding - both wore a mix of combat armor and leathers, likely mercenaries or well-equipped scavengers. They returned her smile.

“Good afternoon.” The older man began, eyeing Charon not with fear as strangers usually did, but with an odd kind of fascination. The younger man behind him said nothing, maintaining his polite smile.

“Hi.” Lizzy greeted. “You guys just leave town?”

“An hour or so ago, yes.”

Charon was sniffing the air. Lizzy knew he was a heartbeat away from reaching for his shotgun. Something about the strangers had him on edge.

“We seem to be distressing your companion.” The balding man continued. “Garner, put your rifle down, you’re spooking the man.”

Garner slowly took the laser rifle at his back out of its holster and set it down on the ground - it was of a make Lizzy had never seen. The balding man did the same with a similar looking pistol at his hip.

Part of her was suspicious - but they’d laid down their weapons, and she had Charon at her side. The advantage was theirs, and they’d beaten much worse odds.

“Thanks. You can’t be too careful on the road these days.” she tried to keep her smile from faltering - something about Garner unnerved her. Maybe it was the way his smile flashed like a blade’s edge.

“Oh, where are my manners - I’m Crawford, and this is my nephew Garner. We’re on our way to DC - rumors are spreading where we come from that the waters run pure, and I’d like to prove them wrong.” Crawford didn’t extend his hand.

“I’m Lizzy, this is Charon.” She did the introductions as she always had - traveling with Charon had made quite the chatterbox out of her. Back in the Vault she stammered when she had to do a presentation in front of the very people she grew up with. “It’s true - there’s a big purifier by Rivet City. They charge out of towners to use it, though.”

“Do they.” Crawford’s eyes glimmered, and he glanced to Garner out of the corner of his eye.

It was enough to set Charon off - in a single fluid movement his shotgun was out of its holster and grasped in his hands, the barrel staring down the two men. “I smell smoke.” he said flatly, and Garner’s smile slid off his face. Lizzy realized what she’d thought was a cloud on the horizon was a pillar of smoke - exactly where Garden’s End was.

To Lizzy’s surprise - and growing dread - it didn’t phase Crawford one bit. “They fit the description.” he said neatly, and before Charon could pull the trigger he uttered what sounded like a code. “ _Atropos, gamma six twelve_.”

Charon lowered his shotgun, all tension leaving his body. He stood in place idly, and Lizzy drew her own pistol.

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it.” she barked, summoning forth all of her willpower and trying not to look as scared as she felt. “Charon, we should go -”

Crawford was beaming. “I’m afraid he can’t hear you.”

“It worked.” Garner muttered. “After all these years-”

“Charon.” Lizzy pleaded, tugging at his sleeve. It was like tugging on a mannequin. Crawford had rendered him this way with a sentence - perhaps she could undo it. “ _Atropos_ -”

Garner picked up his rifle in a heartbeat and fired a warning shot at her feet, cutting her off. “Don’t try it.”

 _Atropos_ , oldest of the greek Three Fates, the sister who severed the thread of life. All the years she'd spent with her nose buried in old mythology in the vault granted her terrible understanding. The meaning did not escape her. It was getting hard to breathe. Conflict of any sort sent her anxiety levels spiking high - usually she wasn’t so close to the gun barrel. Usually Charon would have eliminated anyone who aimed a gun at her. Everything was wrong.

“ _Amazing_.” Crawford whispered, walking right up to Charon. “What providence. You have no idea what you possess, girl.”

“Get away from him.” Lizzy stepped in front of Charon, still pointing her laser pistol at Crawford. “Get the fuck away from him, or I swear to god I’ll shoot. He’s not a possession, he’s my friend - “ The man she loved, but she wouldn’t dare speak it. “ - and we’re leaving.”

“Your hands are shaking.” Crawford observed. “Your friend will kill you before you pull the trigger.”

“Bullshit.” Swearing always felt foreign on her tongue, but she felt a need to puff herself up, to seem more dangerous. Lizzy’s mind raced with attempts at solving her issue, and all she could come up with was hoping she could shoot Garner somewhere that’d leave him unable to kill her while she tried to do the same to Crawford.

Unless - and she was starting to realize how likely that unless was - the two men knew more about what Charon was than she did. Charon told her his contract could only pass on through the death of his employer, but she’d spent many nights thinking. Someone had to make him that way. Couldn’t they undo it?

It was too risky.

The situation deeply amused Crawford judging by his rolling chuckle. He tugged off the glove of his right hand and slapped her clean across the face.

Lizzy saw stars, disoriented enough for Crawford to rip her pistol from her hands. He stepped back while she held her hand to her face - he’d hit her hard enough to bruise. Tears of pain sprung to her eyes and she blinked them back, refusing to shed any tears in front of the two men.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child.” Crawford clicked his tongue, and her temper flared. She hadn’t been a child for years - what innocence she had left died with her father. “We’ve wasted enough time here. Reassign Ares protocol.”

Awareness returned to Charon, and for a brief moment Lizzy’s heart soared, hoping that the blow had shaken him to his senses. Her hopes were shattered when he pushed her aside with the butt of his shotgun, causing her to stumble as he walked by, settling at Crawford’s side. The man tapped his finger to his lips thoughtfully.

“You’ve been spoiled. A little girl with a bodyguard that will do whatever she says - I bet you’ve never tried to discover what he is.”

Like hell she didn’t - she’d spent hours poring over Vault-Tec databases, days exploring every ruined military installation. She’d begged Lyons for access to the Brotherhood archives and paid for it in the start-up codes for the purifier. Lizzy wanted to scream it in his face, to tell him he knew nothing about her - but incensing the man wasn’t likely to turn out well.

His smile turned into a sneer. “I’ve spent decades tracking what you’ve obtained through luck. I’d have thought someone of your reputation would be a little more educated - today you’ll learn the cost of ignorance.”

Lizzy felt like she was going to throw up. She looked at Charon pleadingly, unable to hold back her tears any longer - he returned her gaze dispassionately, looking as bored as he had standing in the Ninth Circle when she first met him. “Charon.” she whispered - _I love you_ , she mouthed, as if it was some fairy tale and she could break the spell with a confession and a kiss.

Had everything been a lie? Were the tender moments only hours before just the result of his conditioning, as she’d always feared? A friendship born of programming, wiped away like she’d done to so many protectrons in her time. Lizzy’s breathing came in reedy whines, she was shaking worse than ever now - trying desperately to think of a deal, to think of something that could convince these men to release Charon. It couldn’t have all been a lie, she told herself. This very incident was what he had warned her about, was what he confessed to fearing in the late hours of the night. It was more hellish for him than it was for her, she was certain.

The worst part, he’d told her, was that he was aware of the motions of his body even as his mind screamed otherwise. It was worse to dissent in the mind than to lose all thought, to witness the horrors you wrought with your own hands. Azhrukhal knew it, and made him enact cruelty upon cruelty as punishment with full awareness of the damage it’d do to Charon’s psyche.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

“Please.” Begging was her last resort, but it was all that was left to her. “There’s plenty of mercs out there, probably people even better than he is at the whole killing thing - please let him go, I’ll pay you, I’ll give you whatever you want.” In her state she was even willing to lay the purifier on the line - the two men would be ripped apart by the Brotherhood, at least. “Anything.”

Garner laughed. “You don’t have anything we want, kid. You’re in a bad position to bargain. Come on, Crawford - let’s give the big guy a test run.”

Lizzy’s blood ran cold. Charon’s face was blank.

“It’s sad, what lack of discipline will do.” Crawford sighed - his tone sounded like that of an annoyed old settler, rather than a murderer. “Charon. Kill her.”

She was running before the sentence was done - a shotgun blast hitting the ground just behind her feet. This was a nightmare, something out of her worst dreams - but as another blast hit a tree close to her head and wood splinters flew in her face she knew it was all terribly real.

Lizzy took off for the woods, where the ground was sturdier and the cover was deeper. Over and over she repeated that Charon had better aim than that, that if he really wanted her dead she would be - but then a pellet grazed her arm and she knew that if he had the chance he’d kill her. Breathing was agony - she was wheezing, lungs unprepared for such a chase. Adrenaline carried her forward. She thrust a hand into the messenger bag she had slung across her shoulder, desperately searching for the Stealth Boy she knew she had. The only advantage she had was her size - it was easier for her to dart and weave between the trees than it was for him.

Another blast where her torso had been a second earlier. She could hear Crawford and Garner laughing in the distance. Charon was a skilled tracker - she’d seen it with her own eyes. Stealth Boys only lasted a few minutes - how much distance could it buy her, how well could she hide that he wouldn’t find her?

A grim voice in the back of her mind said that at least he’d be the one to kill her - but she remembered the haunted quality to his voice when he recalled being trapped within his own body, and knew she couldn’t let it happen. For his sake, if not hers.

Her fingers brushed the corner of a Stealth Boy - she could hear Charon crashing through the undergrowth only yards away from her. Lizzy flipped open the top and hit the switch, the baby hairs at the back of her neck standing up as the stealth field flowed over her.

It hid her from view, but it didn’t hide her influence on her surroundings. Charon slowed, watching the foliage for movement - she was gaining distance, trying to get enough space to slip away. Her foot landed on a twig, and with the snap came another shotgun blast.

Lizzy nearly bit off her tongue as she held in her scream. Pain shot through her - pellets had ripped through the meat of her hip, the shot a grazing one. Adrenaline flushed through her, and she kept scurrying onward, praying that she wasn’t bleeding enough to leave a trace.

_Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…_

In answer to her prayers the undergrowth thinned, leaving short tufts of grass in its wake. The ground here was rocky, easier to travel without leaving a trace - here she extended her legs as far as she could with each stride, covering as much ground as possible. The sound of Charon’s pursuit faded as her stealth field started to wear thin. Frantically she searched her surroundings and spotted a little alcove in the rock, shielded by a shrub. Lizzy slipped in behind it just as her stealth field dissipated. She was barely small enough to fit - the way she had to contort her body made her bullet wound throb. She clamped her hand over her face to silence her breathing.

Familiar footfalls grew closer, so associated in her mind with safety. Charon paced the area, boots scuffing against the stone. She stared at him from her hiding place, trying to will her heart to stop beating. Charon wasn’t looking as carefully as he had with her whenever they were in pursuit of something - pride swelled within her at the small ways he seemed to bend his conditioning.

He grunted after what felt like an eternity of searching, the sound of his footsteps retreating into the distance. Lizzy didn’t dare move.

Only when night fell and darkness blanketed her surroundings did she dare to tend to her wound.

Only then she let her tears fall.

Lizzy had no plan - but there was only one thing she could do.

_Where you go, I will follow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a oneshot for Whumptober, but I'm expanding on it due to popular demand. <3 Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I was going to expand on this. ;)

Lizzy wasn't sure what pain was worse - the one in her heart, or the one radiating from where Charon's shotgun pellets had torn into her flesh.

With sunset came the noise of the nocturnal, insectoid buzzes and the chirp of rodents, the occasional cry of a raven. She tried to focus on them, to guess at their location and their owner - anything to keep her mind off of the agony she was wrapped in. At last, when the night was darkest and she could be sure she would not be seen, she crawled out of her hiding hole. Her wound needed a doctor - and she was the closest thing to it for miles.

Precious alcohol and purified water was put to use cleaning her wound, med-x carefully measured out to numb the pain without making her clumsy so she could stitch together her flesh where necessary. She stuffed a ragged cloth between her teeth to keep herself quiet, blinked back tears as her needle dipped in and out of her skin. It was blissful distraction, however, for once she bound her wound in the last of her clean bandages and sat panting on the ground the reality of her situation fell upon her.

Lizzy was alone in the wilderness for the first time since she'd set foot in DC. So many people had told her that her survival before meeting Charon was nothing short of a miracle. In the dark, with blood on her clothes and the howl of predators in the distance, she once more felt like just a kid from the vault. Weak, small, young, naive. All the lessons she'd learned, all the help Charon had given her - they felt as far away from her as he was in that moment.

It was for that very reason that she had to follow him. For whatever fear she felt, she was certain his had to be worse. No matter how hard it was, she had to find a way to save him. Charon wasn't a man to be owned.

Whether she loved him or not.

She wiped her tears from her eyes and turned back to her pack, fastening her medical kit to it once more. Lizzy peered into its canvas interior, taking stock of her supplies. She'd packed for two (a pang shooting through her heart at the thought) for a journey of no more than a week - with Charon's absence and careful rationing she could stretch things to a month if she wasn't able to hunt or scavenge. Lizzy had no idea how long it would take to find Charon - had no idea if she even could, her tracking skills leaving much to be desired. With regret she wished she'd brought Dogmeat with her instead of leaving him at Rivet City with Butch - his nose would be useful. Part of her wondered if it would be wise to return to the Capital Wasteland to get help and additional supplies, but there was one thing she did know about tracking.

Time was of the essence.

So she slung the straps of her pack over her shoulders and limped her way back to the road.

If she was lucky, perhaps Charon's captors would have a campfire to spot.

If she wasn't, infection would kill her before anything else could.

\--

Charon had grown complacent.

It was odd, how two brief years could have made him forget so much. He did not think his situation would change by splattering Azhrukhal's brain matter on the wallpaper, but in the time he'd spent with the vault dweller who replaced his previous employer Charon had begun to feel like an individual again. A man, not a tool.

Two years were but a blink of an eye when compared to the decades he'd walked the earth, and now he knew he'd spend the rest of his life trying to stretch them over an eternity.

Foolishness. It was all a trap, all a terrible mistake. That much was clear as he watched her mouth that she loved him before he was ordered to kill her.

_She loved him._

If she wanted to twist a knife into him, she had - he didn't know if she was just trying to snap him back to his senses, making a last ditch effort to shock his system. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe her - she was soft, gentle. Good. If ever she was foolish enough to love him, what happened after her silent confession was enough to remind her of the monster he was. 

Whether she meant it or not, it didn't matter anymore.

She knew him enough to start running before the order was given, and it made matters all the worse. Proof enough that she was the prey all along, and he the hunter - proof of the nervous whispers and warnings from those that knew enough about him. Charon had strained against his conditioning, held back as much as he could even as blood trickled out of his nose and he was nearly blinded by the force of the migraine disobedience gave him - even then trying to prove those whispers wrong - and still he heard her cry out after pulling the trigger, still he heard her gait grow clumsy from her wound.

They were all right, and she must have known it. Charon was not a man. He was a tool. A weapon. Terrifyingly skilled at ending lives.

One could not love a weapon.

Somehow she was able to run. Somehow she was able to hide. The vault dweller, his employer, Lizzy, _zaychik_ \- she eluded him, where so many others failed. She would live.

That would be enough, he thought to himself as he walked back to his new employers. The light that she was would not be snuffed out. 

Charon clung to that thought. Clung to Garner and Crawford's satisfied faces, content that they believed her dead. As they set out on the road north he retreated into his mind, for his own will was of little use. Memory was now all he had, all he ever had - kept safe from all but himself, the one thing that could not be taken from him. 

It was a refuge he sank into as they passed through the smouldering remains of Garden's End, homes turned to charcoal standing amidst the wildflowers. Needless destruction, the reason for which he didn't care to know or understand. Charon had seen enough in his years on the earth to know that there was nothing that could make it make sense. No reasoning, no logic - the men walking before him simply had the ability to destroy, and exercised it.

They were not the first, and would be far from the last.

Charon shut his eyes to the sight of such destruction, and turned his gaze inward.

\--

Two years felt like a lifetime ago.

Azhrukhal was testing him, he was sure of it. For months they had stayed in Underworld, Charon's considerable talents wasted playing glorified bouncer. The Ninth Circle lost Azhrukhal more caps than it brought in, a front for his chem trade and a way to pad his ego, nothing more. Usually the real caps were made in seeking out mercenary companies and wastelanders with more caps than entertainment, funneling out vice through caravan lines. Underworld was a bolt hole, a lair populated by a small collection of ghouls too broke to find their fortune elsewhere. They returned to recuperate from a job, to allow Azhrukhal time to relax and inflate his ego before heading back out once more - never staying for more than a few weeks at a time.

Perhaps it was punishment. Charon had managed to refuse an order long enough to make it one impossible to obey on their last outing. They had raided the homestead of a wasteland doctor for his supplies, killing the man, his wife, and his grown son in the process. Charon had discovered the daughter hiding in a closet - no more than fourteen - and Azhrukhal's orders were to kill all witnesses.

Charon let her run, and the tale of the attack had reached the Regulators. Azhrukhal's next order had Charon slowly and painfully beat the life out of an innocent - the usual punishment. There were no good deeds. Only the trade of one life for another. 

At first he thought idleness was a blissful reprieve, but soon he'd run through the scant amount of happy memories he had, and Azhrukhal was all too eager to remind him of the bad ones. He'd cackle as he relayed the story to a regular over a grimy glass of whiskey, and after long enough Charon thought he was starting to hallucinate the blood that was on his hands. It was all he could dream of.

Pain and boredom, and hate festering like a wound. Such was his get, when _she_ came along.

Charon knew when to recognize someone new had come to Underworld. There was a change in the ever-stale air, a shift of tension - scurrying in the halls, an increase in activity. All of them had grown so used to their habits, to decades of repetition, that even the slightest change reverberated through the museum halls. It was as alive as they were.

It was rare newcomers came to the Ninth Circle. Carol or the others warned them off, the few who dared enter seeking something stiffer than a drink. If Charon saw a newcomer, they were most often individuals he didn't wish to know.

Not her, though. She was of a rarer breed - the curious type, short lived in his experience. Regulars eyed her red hair with jealousy, well-groomed strands brushed to a shine, as bright as her blue eyes. They peered out from behind a splash of freckles, and Charon struggled to recall the last time a smoothskin had entered Azhrukhal's establishment.

It was he that she approached first, the bar's proprietor busy in the back room. The girl was a vault dweller, glimpses of her suit visible under her jacket and makeshift armor pads, pip-boy polished and catching the light. If he'd been allowed speech, he would have told her to turn tail and run before Azhrukhal could lay eyes on her. Judging by the shy smile she gave him, the girl was a naive fool - it was a miracle she'd made it so deep into DC without getting shredded. If Azhrukhal had his way, he'd see to correcting fate's oversight.

Charon was not allowed speech, however - and so before the girl could even open her mouth he directed her to talk to Azhrukhal.

Some people thought the first words you spoke to a person were meaningful. Years later, walking amidst the ash of Garden's End, Charon would wonder if he had only predicted a cycle of fate with what his lungs first breathed to her.

The girl had set her mouth into a determined line and talked to Azhrukhal after all, ignored the way the old bartender leered at her and asked him questions about her father. Charon stood at his post and tuned out their conversation, unwilling to learn too much about a girl he was certain would be dead within the week. The girl left, and Charon was informed that she'd asked about him and his contract. Azhrukhal cackled to tell him about the deals he had offered the girl, certain too that if she lingered in DC she'd never be seen again.

And yet, two weeks later, when Azhrukhal had nearly burned through his good wine and was feeling the itch of wanderlust once more, the girl returned.

Charon watched her place a sack of caps on the counter in disbelief - and when Azhrukhal started to make excuses she added pure pre-war chemicals to the offer. It was something the bartender could not refuse - he could sell the Ninth Circle and retire comfortably for the rest of his days.

Charon knew this, when the girl came to him with her contract in hand. She offered it to him, and he laughed. Batted it away, and approached Ahzrukhal with shotgun in hand to say his farewell.

Three shots. Once to kill. Twice to ruin. Thrice to make a point.

Those bright blue eyes of her filled with terror, and he knew she had no idea what she had bought. What he was. What she had become.

With him at her back, perhaps she'd make it a few months. The employer after her couldn't be worse than Azhrukhal.

So he told himself, as she shrank away from him and scampered out of Underworld like a startled deer. He followed, and she did not command him otherwise.

\--

God created man from the earth - and perhaps it was fitting that the mud was her miracle.

Deep and large footprints caught the moonlight from their ridges - imprints cast by a boot she knew well, larger than any ordinary man's. There was no campfire to light her way, but there were tracks heading north. A thread of connection, a way to feel his presence as she followed the road north as fast as her wound would let her. Lizzy knew it was best for her to rest, that chasing anything was the last thing she should have been doing, but she knew Charon would do the same for her. Even if she was also certain he'd be the first one telling her to go home.

She'd rest when her body would go no further.

The moon shone brightly overhead once she broke free of tree cover, lighting her way. Despite the late hour she did not feel tired. Adrenaline carried her forward, the frantic beating of her heart keeping pace with her hurried footsteps. It took two strides of hers for every step of Charon's, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing ground. She'd lost enough as it was.

When she reached Garden's End, she wished the sky was dark. 

Little cottages and well loved shacks were burnt to husks, the scent of smoke still strong. There was the unmistakable aroma of charred flesh, and she could not keep herself from staring at the corpses. The place had once been a sanctuary of sorts, it's people aiding fleeing slaves, their hearts and souls as beautiful as the wildflowers that gave the town it's name. 

Now it lay in ashes. 

Lizzy wondered if that was the fate of all good things or just the ones her hand had touched - and realized that the town's destruction would not have occurred if she had kept Charon secret, if she did not involve him in her own arrogant heroism. Soon she could not see from the tears clouding her eyes - she tried to bat them away, but felt all the guiltier for it. More came, threatening to drown her.

The Vault. Her father. Garden's End. Innocence lost, hope destroyed, again and again and again. She struggled to catch her breath, each step a stumbling one - between her tears and the smoke her weak lungs could barely keep up. It felt wrong to try and put the town behind her, to move on even as it aggravated her breathing problems. 

Lizzy could not stop moving. Time was not on her side, evidenced by the shifting shadows cast by the moon's travel across the sky. There was one good that remained, one mistake that she could still right. 

Charon was still out there.

\--

_"You cry too much."_

_He had told her that, once, when she found a dirtied teddy bear in a pile of debris. She'd sniffled and taken it out of the rubble, lovingly brushed what filth she could from it. The tears running down her face seemed to distress him, and she'd swallowed them before replying._

_"I'm sorry. It's just… it's all so sad."_

_Charon grunted and shook his head._

_"You should put it back. It'll take up too much room."_

_He watched her turn the stuffed animal over in her hands, saw her grip tighten on it. "No." she replied, looking him in the eye - one of few smoothskins who didn't flinch away from his ruined visage. "It was meant to be loved. Whoever had it first wouldn't want it to be some place like this."_

_"It's not alive. It doesn't think." He had said, but he didn't realize she wasn't just talking about the bear._

_Perhaps he wasn't, either._


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Lizzy made it to the light in the distance the moon had nearly crossed the sky. Her legs were heavy, her calves burned, her shoulders ached from the weight of her pack. She was certain her eyes must have been red from sleep deprivation and straining to find her way in the dark - but she couldn’t afford to rest.

The light was a campfire, that became clear as she approached. Stashing her pack in a nearby tree, she snuck closer - ignoring the way her slow movements pulled at her wound - and to her disappointment there was only one figure sitting near the fire.

A woman - a ghoul, at that. From what Lizzy could tell she must have been a scavenger - a loaded brahmin was tied to a nearby tree, idly grazing. She kept her hand on her laser pistol’s holster as she stepped into the light.

The woman wasn’t perturbed by the sight of Lizzy, simply lifting her eyes from the fire - and the cooking pot that sat by the coals. “You’re the smallest raider I’ve ever seen.” Her accent was one Lizzy didn’t recognize, a slow and quiet drawl.

“I’m not a raider.” Lizzy replied. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Awful late to be looking for anything. Too dark.” The woman stretched her legs, the firelight accentuating the crags in her ruined skin. Her cloudy eyes studied Lizzy, centering on her face for a moment. “Kid like you should be asleep.”

“Not a kid either.” She was sounding like Charon, exhaustion making sentences longer than five words difficult. The thought set her chest to hurting all over again. Lizzy rubbed at her eyes - succeeding only in making them sting more. They watered from irritation and her own frustration. “And I could say the same thing about you.” Lifting her pipboy she activated the screen, squinting at the time. “It’s four in the morning.”

“You haven’t travelled much, have you?” The ghoul woman raised a brow. “Best to rise early and move with all the sunlight you can. Raiders sleep late, and in the summer you beat the heat that way.” Idly she massaged her thigh, wincing a little. Lizzy caught sight of a walking cane leaning against the log the woman sat at. “So who is it a vault smoothskin is looking for at four in the morning?”

“Two men took my friend.” Lizzy began cautiously - something about this woman made her feel as if she could be trusted, but running her mouth had gotten her and Charon into this mess. “One of them is an old man, the other one is young and blonde. My friend’s a ghoul - biggest one you’ve ever seen, probably. Red hair, leather armor, blue eyes beneath the…” In spite of herself she was getting choked up again, her throat feeling like it was closing on her.

The ghoul woman nodded as she spoke, her expression darkening a degree. “I haven’t seen the two men, but your friend sounds familiar. Not from around here, though. I’m a trader, smoothskin. Make the loop between the Capital Wasteland and the Commonwealth every five years. There’s a place called Underworld in DC - your ‘friend’ wouldn’t happen to be from there, would he?”

Lizzy bit her lip, uncertain on how to respond. “I figure most ghouls in DC have been there.”

It was all the answer the woman needed. “Whatever you’ve been told, if he’s Azrukhal’s pet you’re best turning round and heading back to DC. I’ve been around too long, been back and forth from Underworld about as long - and your ‘friend’ has been there as long as I can remember. I’ve seen things. Heard things. Whatever humanity was in that man’s long gone.”

Strength came back to her in force. “You’re wrong.” she argued, eyes blazing and voice steady. “He’s no one’s pet. Azrukhal’s dead.”

“Then the hound’s off the leash.” The woman murmured, though her expression was now one of curiosity. “What’s got a young thing like you looking for a killer like him?”

“He’s not a killer, either.” Lizzy was adamant - what the woman said was nothing she hadn’t heard before, was startlingly close to what her father had told her. She’d never have a chance to prove him wrong. If she didn’t find Charon, she’d never have a chance to prove _anyone_ wrong. “He’s kept me safe. He loves dogs. He plays guitar, sometimes, and he only just started really laughing. The men who took him want to take that away. They’re the monsters. Garden’s End is gone because of them.”

“Hm. Shit.” The woman studied her for a long time, now. The fire crackled, the pack brahmin exhaling with enough force to rattle the pans hanging from it. At last she spoke again. “You got a canteen, kid?” She extended a scarred hand - flesh dried and peeled away, tendons visible. Anyone else would have turned away in disgust.

Lizzy, however, unfastened her canteen from her pack. It was light - near empty, for she’d needed to drink to sustain herself on her long march. “Here.”

The woman took it - and rather than drink from it, as Lizzy expected, she instead took the lid off of her cooking pot. Within was boiling water. Ladle in hand, the woman refilled Lizzy’s canteen before handing it back. “That’s all the concrete help I can give you. I’ll give you something else, since you’re not one for practical advice. Anyone on the road north of DC is heading to Baltimore - it’s less of a shithole than DC, day or two’s hike from here if you take the 95.” Her eyes dropped to Lizzy’s pipboy. “You can probably follow the route that thing’ll give you well enough. There’s raiders, but there’s always raiders.”

True enough, the route recommended by her pip-boy was the same the woman mentioned. “Thank you. Is there anything I can give-”

Lizzy’s attempt to offer something in exchange was waved away. “Nah, kid. Free favor. You’re not the only one from a vault.”

Two years ago the statement would have excited Lizzy, back when the word _vault_ meant home, before she’d seen that 101 was an exception, and that _vault_ really meant _hell_. “I’m sorry.”

It got the woman to laugh, a sound like the crackling fire. “Me too, but it’s a long way away now. Out west, in the mountains.” The woman’s gaze grew far away too, for a moment - before snapping back to Lizzy with startling focus. “Forgotten my manners. What’s your name, before you go?”

“Elizabeth.” It was a name her father called her when she was in trouble or he was being serious, a name no one in the wasteland really knew her by anymore - which made it safe. “You?”

“Edith. Call me Edie.” The ghoul woman answered with a brief nod. “You’re welcome to rest here for a few hours. Sun’ll be a bit rising yet.”

Lizzy shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve lost enough ground already. Thank you, ma’am. Say hi to Carol if you stop by Underworld.”

Mention of Carol piqued Edith’s interest, but she asked no more questions. “I’ll be sure to. Best you come back to say hi to her yourself, if you’re friends. Be careful out there. Not often I meet a polite smoothskin.”

It took some effort for Lizzy to smile - the gesture weak and fleeting - but she managed it nevertheless. “I’ll try.”

She was on her way back to fetching her pack when she heard the woman call _good luck_ from behind her.

She’d need it.

\--

Baltimore wasn’t unfamiliar to Charon, though it had been at least a decade since he’d last been. Azrukhal had a chem trading deal set up with the city’s largest gang of raiders before they collapsed - the civilian population had enough and took matters into their own hands. Charon could remember how Azrukhal frothed with anger at the news, how he unleashed a volley of creative insults for the city’s ‘boat-people’. Charon himself could only feel a twinge of envy. He longed to break his chains.

It reminded him of how he’d thought he had, and how his current situation was a brutal correction of that mistake. Charon tried to push his memories away.

They came upon it when the moon was high in the sky. The city was still infested with mirelurks, was still flooded as ever - but with the local raider population quelled, there were new settlements all over. Villages made of rafts and old boats, linked together by floating planks. Crawford and Garner hired one of the local boatmen to ferry them through the city, and Charon was put to work eliminating whatever nearby mirelurks looked like they were getting ideas - the creatures’ activity increased with nightfall.

Unlike Azhrukhal, his new captors were mercifully quiet - when it came to him, at least. They did not taunt him, told him nothing of their plans - their very bearing was secretive, dealings with the locals kept just as short. Charon was spoken to only to receive orders. Once upon a time he’d have preferred it, to be treated as a simple tool with no emotions of his own rather than to be tortuously played with. Now he could only think of what it was like to feel the opposite - to be _asked_ , to feel a gentle hand on his arm when he was tense, to be offered the other half of a snack cake.

Charon thought of _her_ as he blasted a mirelurk in the face plate. Mirelurk was one of the few foods she could truly enjoy, however much the creatures scared her. He nearly smiled to remember her reaction the first time she’d seen a mirelurk king, the yelp she’d given and her insistence that it had a man’s face, the way she’d been spooked away from straying close to the shore for a week after. He’d protected her as always, told her she had nothing to fear, and she looked at him like he was crazy with her nose scrunched up in the way that had earned her his nickname.

Little rabbit, little pest, always sniffing about, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

The boatman’s paddle cut through the water, and he wondered what she was doing, where she was. It had been a few days - long enough for her to get back to Megaton, if she hurried. There was a painful clench in his chest to remember she wasn’t likely to be hurrying after he’d shot her.

Lizzy was her father’s daughter, though - she’d be fine, he told himself. So many times she’d knit together his wounds, her hands carefully stitching him back together as if one more scar on his monstrous form would matter. She’d make it back home in one piece, to the dog - she’d cry, maybe, she cried at everything - but she’d probably wander over to Rivet City for reassurance from Butch, and there she’d see the handsome captain of the city guard again.

Charon watched the reflection of the city’s ruined skyline ripple in the water, cutting through the moonlight. She’d be fine.

\--

The road was long and rough, but thankfully Lizzy’s trek north was spent lonely indeed - the raiders Edith spoke of must have been watching some other path, or found some other poor prey to distract themselves with. She tried not to dwell on it.

Pain was constant. She hadn’t slept more than nine hours over the past three days, and her wound was unable to heal from the constant movement. Each change of her bandages offered a new and grotesque sight to her - and she was starting to run out of alcohol to disinfect it with. Weakness and fatigue plagued her, but each time she stumbled she reminded herself that whatever she suffered paled in comparison to Charon’s fate if she failed. He’d protected her for so long - she had to return the favor.

So she kept moving, the landscape shifting around her. In the distance she could hear waves, could smell the sea - forest giving way to marshland. The few traffic signs that still remained standing counted down the miles to Baltimore, a constant reassurance that she was making progress.

DC, from what Lizzy knew, had taken a direct nuclear strike. It reflected it - the city a mess of rubble and skeletal metal remains of old buildings, twisted metal and rebar an ever-present threat to scavengers who didn’t watch their footing. Even without the super mutants pouring out of Vault 87, it was a dangerous place.

Baltimore was very different.

It hadn’t gone unharmed by the ruin the old world had brought down upon itself - the skyline was battered, and the highway Lizzy followed ended abruptly with the sea that had flooded over it - the tops of shipping trucks standing like little islands for a few hundred yards beyond. A nearby makeshift dock bustled with activity, traders, scavengers, and settlers all lounging around picnic tables. A large metal shack had ‘FERRY SERVICE’ painted on its side in white.

Perhaps it was the city’s contrast to DC, or her mind was delirious with exhaustion, but she thought it was beautiful. Half of it had been swallowed by water, but it didn’t stop the locals - boats of all kinds drifted through the water, some with colorful patchwork sails, all with personality. It hummed with promise, and she found herself buying into that same promise.

The people at the docks side-eyed her as she passed, and Lizzy knew she must have looked to be in a frightful state. She hadn’t bathed, hadn’t had time for much of anything beyond ensuring her basic survival on her hike north, and she was certain she looked a fright indeed. Even the blue of her vault suit was difficult to see under her coat and the mud and dust that coated her.

She nudged open the door to the ferry shack.

It was like any other makeshift shack she’d seen in the Capital Wasteland, corrugated metal and scraps of wood, smelling vaguely of woodsmoke. There were a few bistro tables occupied by a handful of men - one of which wore dark sunglasses, glancing at her as she passed. There was a counter with an old woman standing behind it, her hair styled into an updo that would make Butch cringe.

“Hi, honey.” The woman greeted as Lizzy approached, her brow furrowing in concern over her glasses as she caught sight of the bloodstain on Lizzy’s coat - and the bullet holes left in it. “Trouble on the road?”

“No.” Lizzy lied. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh?” The woman leaned forward conspiratorially, and Lizzy got the distinct impression that the woman had taken her job just for the stories of strangers. “You’re at the right place. Only way to cross to the city, unless you’ve got your own boat.”

“Did two men and a really big ghoul come through here?” Lizzy hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat the question too often. “One’s balding, one’s young, the ghoul’s close to seven feet tall-”

“Hard to miss.” The woman said, expression growing dark as Edith’s had. “Got a bad feeling about them. You a bounty hunter or something?”

“Something like that.” Lizzy breathed, the answer satisfactory for the old woman.

“Good. We’ve just gotten rid of the troublemakers here, don’t want any more from parts unknown. Yeah, they came through here, wanted a ferry into town. Came in pretty late so I figure they were looking for somewhere to stay.”

“When’s the next ferry in?”

The woman gestured to a clock behind her. “Fifteen minutes. It’ll take you right to the Wharf. Hotel’s hard not to miss - big fancy brick building with white columns on it.”

“How much?”

“Five caps.”

Lizzy winced - as careful as she moved, fishing the caps out of her pocket still hurt. The woman frowned at her.

“There’s a doctor in town too, he can take care of you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The woman only tutted in disapproval, taking her caps and taking out a stamp. She gestured for Lizzy to hold her hand out, and stamped it.

“Show that to the ferryman and he’ll let you on.”

Lizzy looked down at the image - a smiling cartoon crab. She marvelled at it, wondered how they managed to find ink. Everything was so different from DC. It made her homesick.

“Thanks.”

She exited the shack and seated herself at the edge of the dock, watching the boats go by and trying not to think of what lurked under the water. The sky above was bright and blue, the few buildings she could make out on the waterfront in the distance colorful rectangles. She tried to imagine Charon in such a bright place, and hoped he took comfort in his surroundings if nothing else.

True to the old woman’s word, after ten minutes she could hear a generator chugging in the distance - its source a rickety and large raft kept afloat by plastic barrels roped around its sides. Most of the people sitting around the dock stood and approached the edge, a few exiting the ferry shack to join them. Lizzy scrambled to her feet with a grunt.

“You okay?”

Lizzy glanced over her shoulder. It was the man with the sunglasses.

“Yeah. Just a little sore.”

“Suit yourself.” The man shrugged.

The ferry pulled up to the side of the dock, and those milling about started to climb aboard. Lizzy felt a pang of fear as she stepped onto the rickety raft - she wasn’t a very good swimmer, and her wound was still bleeding. If she fell overboard the rads would be the last thing she had to worry about. The thing was overcrowded, the old and rotting ropes around its perimeter far from enough to hold anyone back if they happened to stumble.

She crossed herself as the generator revved and the ferry lurched forward. She swore she heard the man in the sunglasses snicker.

The journey was a frightening one, but it went by quickly enough - Lizzy tried to distract herself by peering at the boats they passed, hoping (perhaps foolishly) that she could catch sight of a familiar patch of red hair on one of the passengers. 

Her disappointment by the time the ferry reached the other side of shore was tempered by her relief to stand on solid ground once more. Lizzy elbowed past the other passengers in a way that would have her father frowning in disapproval, in a hurry not just to quell her anxiety but to get to the inn the woman had spoken of and, if she was lucky, catch Charon and his captors before they departed.

They couldn’t kill her in the middle of a settlement. Not without bringing hell down on their own heads.

_Charon had killed Azrukhal in front of them all, and no one had blinked an eye._

Lizzy shook her head, as if she could shake the thought out of her ears. She focused on the part of the city she’d arrived in - it was lined with a boardwalk of rotting wood that turned into cobblestone sidewalks, the asphalt streets cracked and pockmarked, filled with puddles. The buildings were old brick warehouses but stately in their own way - to her relief there were makeshift wooden signs painted with directions.

She ignored the arrows that pointed toward ‘DOCTOR’ and followed the ones that led to ‘HOTEL’. Her heart pounded, her eyes scanning the groups of people milling about - they were all too colorful to be Charon, bright rubber boots and overalls, sundresses and wide brimmed hats. Lizzy wondered what Butch would think of it all - and missed him terribly. It’d all be easier with a friend at her side - but time was too short, her mission too dangerous.

The hotel was obvious enough when she approached - not only matching the ferry woman’s description, but as with much of the rest of the city painted with its purpose. The bricks were faded, columns water stained and threaded with weeds - but it looked like the coziest place in the world to her after nearly a week on the road.

Inside was a large lobby that must have been stately indeed back in the day, the floors wood parquet - though now they had little plants sprouting out from between them, a bush or two in places - the building’s large windows letting the sun spill in. A radio on the front desk blasted the familiar tunes of Galaxy News - and Lizzy felt a surge of pride for having helped replace its radar dish. A man with long white hair and an even longer beard lounged behind the front desk.

“Hello.” Lizzy greeted, and the man dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

“You want a room?”

Customer service was lacking, a startling contrast to her (relatively) luxurious surroundings. “That’d be nice. I was also wondering if you’ve seen someone.”

“Got more people than ever coming through here. You’ll have to be specific.” The man grunted, rising from his chair. He was startlingly tall. “Two hundred caps. That includes breakfast.”

Two hundred caps was highway robbery as far as Lizzy was concerned - even the Weatherly hotel only charged a hundred and twenty. Luckily for the innkeep caps were the least of her concerns, even though her coin purse was worryingly light after she set her payment on the counter. “I’m looking for the largest ghoul you’ve ever seen. Seven feet tall, red hair. Probably with two men.”

The innkeep paused in the middle of counting out her caps. “I hope you mean to kill them.”

Lizzy blinked, mouth going dry. “What happened?”

“The two men were talking. Old Bill - brings us fish every morning - happened to pass by too close to where they were sitting. They told the ghoul to deal with him. Dead before he could apologize.” The innkeep gestured to a collection of couches in the lobby. “Took the better part of a day to get the blood out of the upholstery. They were gone by the time the militia came by.”

It was difficult for her to find her words. Tears stung at her eyes. She had more blood on her hands. “When was this?”

“Day and a half ago.” The innkeep said, turning to take down a key from the rack behind him. “Figure they’re going to the Commonwealth, asked if we still ran boats to Boston. I says to them, not since Philly’s gone to shit. Militia here’s thinking of cleaning things up there next, but Philly’s not flooded, no way of using the boats.”

 _Boston._ Lizzy didn’t know if she wanted to weep from relief at an answer or despair at what had passed - for the moment she choked down her emotions. “Then that’s where I’m headed. I’ll make sure your man’s avenged.”

The innkeep looked her up and down, skepticism written plain on his features. “Hope you’ve got help.” He handed over the key. “Up the stairs and to the right, room twelve. You’ve got a view of the harbor. Don’t take pot shots at the ‘lurks, you’ll just piss them off. We’ll have a swarm on our hands and we’ll chop you up for chum to get them to leave.”

“... noted.” Lizzy mumbled, having no intention of doing anything close to taking pot-shots. She’d catch a few hours of sleep, resupply, and then haul ass to Boston as fast as she could.

“Breakfast’s at eight. Betty - my wife - she’ll put a tray outside the door if you like to sleep in, but don’t complain if it’s cold.”

Lizzy’s stomach grumbled. For the past few days she’d been eating cram and molerat jerky - the thought of a warm meal was enough to have her salivating. Maybe proper food would help quell the knot of worry in her gut. “Thanks.” She took the key and started toward the stairwell.

“If you’re planning on following them -” The innkeep called over. “- best go around Philly and New York. It’ll take a week or two longer, but you’ll make it there alive.”

She raised her pip-boy, glancing at its map - the maze of pre-war roads, the graphics unable to relay the ruin, radiation, or raiders that waited for her further north. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Time was more important than her safety. A man had died already - two more weeks, and how many others would die?

How much more blood would be on her hands?

\--

_James had her eyes - or she had his, Charon supposed. His were harder, ice to her water, and he could not blame the man. He knew what Charon was._

_“I’ve heard stories of what you’ve done.” The man’s accent didn’t belong, just as Charon’s didn’t, and he wondered if in another life they ever could have the chance to discuss it. “I know it wasn’t your choice, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s possible.”_

_“I cannot hurt her.”_

_James exhaled. “No, I suppose you can’t.” Maybe the man knew that the only one who’d hurt her out of the two of them was himself - in the way only a father could, by leaving her behind. “But what if she’s collateral? She’s… she was premature, you know. I wanted her to stay in the Vault, just being out here-”_

_“I am bound to keep her safe, no matter the cost.”_

_Emotionless responses only seemed to irritate James further. He levelled a flat look Charon’s way._

_“That’s what I’m worried about.”_


End file.
